


Newsroom Fanfic Challenge by JayMitchellWrites

by JayMitchell



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Gen, newsroom fanfic challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-04-29 18:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5137409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayMitchell/pseuds/JayMitchell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My own entries for the Newsroom Fanfic Challenge from 2015 to 2018 in tumblr by lilacmermaid25. This is currently going as weekly challenge for 2018.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January 2015: Serving the Sentence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie the one visiting Will in prison, so why does he feel like he's the one in behind bars? (The Newsroom, Charlie Skinner, Will McAvoy,)
> 
> (As a response to The Newsroom Fanfic challenge for January - Mackenzie and the team set up a visitation schedule for Will while he’s in prison, so that someone is there every time he’s allowed a visitor. Pick any Newsroom character and write about their visit(s).)

**Serving the Sentence**

 

* * *

It all happened too fast for him to keep up, and it's only been a couple of weeks. One minute he's talking to Leona, then suddenly, Lucas is spewing one odd idea after the other. Both of them use the same words, "All in the name of progress", but now he can't understand half what Lucas was saying.

Lucas was talking about an app now, and he doesn't like the sound of it, and boy, does Lucas try his best to convince him that it's best for their already dismal contribution to revenue. It's like talking to Reese again, but at least Reese actually took a minute off to let him speak. 

It was a huge pile of clusterfuck, one after the other. Not that he was taking note. During the old days, he could just walk it off or down a glass of whiskey or two.

Not now, especially not now.

His phone gives out a rather loud alert, loud enough to make Lucas go scowl at him. He could only reply with a quick, "Meeting with Mac, I have to be there."

He barely hears Lucas protesting, and he sends out a quick message to MacKenzie.

"If Pruitt asks, tell him we have a meeting of great importance."

He just needs to get out, even if it's for a few minutes.

\---

MacKenzie had welcomed him in, while she was on the phone with Lucas, most likely - she was already standing up. Rubbing her temples,  her hair  currently in a messy bun, trying to vouch for whatever it was Charlie had told Lucas Pruitt.  "Well, this meeting is of utmost importance Mr. Pruitt - Yes, we still need to finalize on who will take over for Will for the rest of the - Elliot has offered so we are considering - Sloan has already covered for two weeks -ANDYESTHESEARETHETHINGSWETALKABOUTINTHEMEETING, GOODBYE."

Charlie settles down on the chair, waiting for MacKenzie to compose himself. "He threw the 'Is your accent even real?' line yet again. I need him to remember my actual name, Charlie."She tucks in her stray hair behind her ear. A tired, but genuine smile lights up her face. "How was your day?"

He could only reply with a shrug. "He's talking about bringing in extra revenue by ," he draws quotation marks with his fingers, "'tapping phones'. He tells me to trust him because he's got his ear on the ground."

MacKenzie shuffles around some of her papers, but she takes time to tell a joke. "Tell him Reese already did the phone tapping thing. Didn't work out well for him."

"I think he means making an app or something-"

MacKenzie shifts to seriousness. "That sounds... Odd. We already have our own news app."

"He wants to make everyone journalists."

It was enough to make MacKenzie stop. "He's pushing through with it? The "report your own news" app?"

As if on cue, Sloan walks in, dressed too casually for a Thursday. "No, he's not yet there. He did however, push through with an app that lets you stalk people and assure you, 'It's okay to stalk people'. Just in case you needed your conscience to be clear when you're about to stalk someone." 

Charlie looks back and forth at the two of them. "I'm sorry, what are you two talking about?"

"The app," they both reply at the same time, MacKenzie in the form of a question, Sloan with annoyed certainty.

 At this, Charlie buries his face in his hands. "I don't even know what the fuck is going on around here anymore." There was too much going on, with Lucas and his grand plans of rewriting journalism, with his  own staff incomplete; Neal on the run and Will in prison -

Will. 

He looks at Sloan, and he takes the opportunity. "You're on visiting duty today, right?"

Sloan holds up her hand. "Hang in there buddy, I already moved for Elliot and Jim-"

"Well, I have a greater need than those two, my time is limited."

"Not funny."

"You get my point."

He's out of MacKenzie's office, deaf to Sloan's protests. That's the second time he's done that in a day.

He's usually a nice guy.

\---

Charlie waits for the doors to open to bring Will in, but for the meantime, he observes Will's fellow felons. Not that Will was one, but every one else around here surely looks like the type.

The door opens, and in comes Will McAvoy. It's enough to make some of the visitors pause and take in a good look - Charlie takes a mental note of those who looked at Will with a "holier than thou" air around them. 

Will didn't seem to mind.

"Prison seems to be doing good things to you," Charlie says as a way of greeting. He goes for a hug, to which the nearby officer cleared his throat to their general direction.

Will raised an eyebrow at him. "He's in his seventies and he's wearing a bow tie, do you think he's that big of a threat?" Charlie shakes his head, and urges Will to take the his seat. "I thought I'd get you a harmonica, to complete the prison experience. But seeing they're banning friendly hugs, I'm glad I didn't take the risk."

That did it. The smile on Will's face was the one thing Charlie needed to feel at ease - the current setting be damned.

\---

Usual pleasantries were exchanged, "How's ACN?", "How's prison life?", "Do you have plans to bust me out of here?" - with the last one causing the guard on duty to be on alert. It seemed to be your usual visitation, albeit it was one with a nightly news anchor and the president of the news division he was under. They had managed to make the conversation between them casual, to save themselves from eavesdroppers looking for a quick buck with a story to sell. 

Or so Charlie thought. After all, Will had a few years of being a prosecutor under his belt. 

"Something wasn't right," and Will felt it in his bones. Sure, Charlie had a brave smile on his face, managed to crack a few jokes here and there. But that lightness didn't seem to reach his eyes. He knew something was up.

Will managed to glance at the clock. "Are they giving you an extension because you're old?" Charlie crossed his arms. "That joke got old a few jokes ago." 

"I've got a couple more, and I intend to use them all."

"I was wrong, prison changed you." Charlie laughs, still trying to keep the atmosphere light. 

"Charlie,"Will starts, leaning in slightly as if it would help to keep things confidential. "Tell me what's wrong."

The older man took to quick to rebuff, "Nothing. Nothing's wrong."

Will opted for a pause, not quite giving in to an impulse to try to talk it out; he'll let Charlie open up. 

It didn't hurt to nudge him to the right direction though.

"We've only got a few more minutes. And from what I understand, MacKenzie's made sure every single one of you guys would be visiting me during my stay."

He's not sure when the calm and composed Charlie Skinner took a back seat, but sure enough, the old man became older, as if the burden on his shoulders was killing him.

This was the Charlie Skinner he was afraid to see  in front of him.

\---

Charlie tries to look everywhere else except at Will. The image of his friend - no - his almost son, imprisoned for standing up to beliefs they all hold dear in their profession. Ever since they slapped him in cuffs and sent him to prison for contempt - Charlie felt proud for Will, and then mixed with spite for himself . 

After all, they wouldn't be here if he had not been so blind. Had he seen through Jerry's ambition for prestige. Had he known that to save Leona and Reese was to sell their very soul to the devil. Had he step in and told them that Neal gave him the source.

Day in and day out ever since, Charlie felt that burden. The burden he carried was so deceptively simple: that those who were young and have so much promise were compromised because of a blind, delusional old man.

"I'm so tired Will," he blurts out. "I know I have to keep it together. I try to, every goddamned day. But so help me God, everyday I see the repercussions of my mistakes. I should be the one locked up for contempt. I should have left when I was asked. I should have kept my fucked up, idealistic self silent and let everything run its course. Who was I thinking we could change all that?

Charlie takes in a deep breath, making himself go on.  "I shouldn't have - If only I had played it safe, I could have protected you all better. I could have been... The better person you all needed-"

\---

"Stop."

Charlie stops, coincidentally when Will, in his firm voice tells him to. He wanted to say more but he couldn't, while Will couldn't bear to see him regret everything they had built from the beginning. 

"I don't like seeing you like this. It's already hard as it is , Charlie. I'm away from my wife, from the thing which we both love doing, and I am not doing anything while God knows what that prick is doing. And all the while you've been carrying this... Huge millstone that you insist on hanging around your neck.

Don't blame yourself. Blame anyone else - Dantana - he should be the one whose ass you're kicking. But I am not going to leave here until you take all of that shit you said back.

We all made a mistake. Because we were doing it for a good cause - a great cause. We were all alone fighting through that muddled world of misinformation and deceit and paranoia. And it felt good. It felt great! Not only because it was the right thing to do, but because you made sure we all were on board with it. We weren't alone in that mission to civilize. You. Made. Sure. Of. It. 

If anything else Charlie, we disappointed you. Because we weren't doing enough. Right now, we aren't doing enough. If I were there and not here, you know I'd be kicking Pruitt's ass because whatever's coming out in that blowhard's mouth is a far cry from what we've set out to do. You just have to give us all a chance to stand back up and  fight.

But don't you ever blame yourself for all this shit that's happening to us right now. This was never an easy road."

Will reached out to the father he always had,  not minding anyone who was witnessing the whole thing.

"Everything is going to be okay Charlie," Will tries one more time. "We're not going anywhere."

And after all that talk, the only thing Charlie Skinner could do was to bow his head, to look at his shaking hands, still begging for forgiveness.


	2. February: Quick Deflections for When Someone Asks The Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One would say it, the other would more or less say something. Three times it wasn’t planned. (The Newsroom, Sloan Sabbith, Don Keefer, Maggie Jordan, Jim Harper)
> 
> (As a response to The Newsroom Fanfic challenge for February - Your first line must be: “Let’s get married”. The Rules: There are none, EXCEPT that it can’t be about Will and Mac getting married while dealing with the Kundu story, as happened in canon. Otherwise, absolutely anything else is fair game - any pairing, any character saying the first line, under any circumstances. Whether the person speaking is serious is entirely up to you, as is whether we actually see a wedding take place.)

###  **Quick Deflections for When Someone Asks The Question**

* * *

“Let’s get married.”

If Don wasn’t busy trying to remember  what he had learned from his cooking classes, maybe he’d have burned himself with the waffle maker. But Don certainly heard something, he just wasn’t sure if it was praise or sass for his waffles.

“I’m sorry?”

Sloan was quick to answer. “Nothing.” She goes on to take another bite of the waffle, already swimming in syrup and butter. Don breaks into a smile, pleased that the pricey cooking classes paid off.

Don wasn’t the kind of man who would go through extra lengths to impress a lady. However, Sloan wasn’t just some lady - she was this brilliant, extraordinary person who is better than him in every possible way he could think of.

Except waffle-making - he thought - hey had to somehow be better at something, and he was currently killing it with the waffles.

Truth be told, he was still afraid. Sloan did not just date men of average lives. Yes, they were in a relationship, crossing various lines while they were dating. But then you’d hear or read something and you’re back to where you were before - doubting yourself and counting the days until Sloan would move on, or punch you in the face telling you she has moved on.

Maybe he could casually ask her if she would-

It dawns to him on what he heard.

“What did you say?”

He could have sworn he heard the word “Marry” somewhere in his kitchen. And it didn’t come from him.

Sloan gets another one of the waffles. “Nothing, sweet potato. Nothing. Now, please make some more waffles, you’re already out.”

Don crosses his arms, standing firmly on his feet. “I think I heard a marriage proposal somewhere between the first and second waffle.”

Sloan flips her pony tail to the other shoulder. “You’re hearing things Keefer.”

“What happened to Sweet Potato?”

“I was hungry, and therefore I resorted to food based endearments. And now I’m angry, and I demand actual food.”

Don raised an eyebrow at her, and then moved the waffle mix away. “You asked me to marry you. I think. No, you did, and now you’re hiding behind a waffle… Hill.”

“Used to be a mountain, you weren’t fast enough.”

“Hey, waffle making takes time - if you want to achieve the perfectly brown waffle, you have to wait.”

“Or you can order them.”

“Of course, but it definitely doesn’t have that touch of love from me.”

The pause Sloan had from her end made him consider victory, until she made a face. “Oh God Don.” She pushes away the plate as Don counters with a frantic, “I meant that as a metaphor!”

Sloan snorts out a laugh, “Stop making those waffles,"she tells him. "And come here to eat, I think you’ve made enough.” Don was all too happy to oblige.

He sits across the table from her, helping himself to his own creation. It’s when  he finishes the first half that Sloan clears her throat. “It was a proposal brought about by food -”

“I knew it.”

“Which doesn’t count! I was completely overwhelmed by how good this meal is.”

Don raises an eyebrow. “That’s another way you could praise my skills, I guess.”

“Nevertheless. I just want you to know - it’s not really… A joke. If you do have a ring in your pants, get that sucker out and we can get married like Will and Mac.”

Don stopped eating all together, and looked at her. He puts aside his food, and walks all the way to Sloan, kneeling in front of her, tenderly taking her hand.

“Sloan Sabbith,”

The pause could kill anyone else.

“I don’t have a ring in my pocket. Nor do I have one anywhere in this house -”

Sloan manages to land a nice slap on the back of his head.

“However, and please, please don’t hit me this time. 

I’d like to be sure. Sure that you really want to be with me. For me. Because I am sure as hell I’m not all those ex-boyfriends of yours - body wise. I mean, brain wise, pretty sure I got that all covered.

I want to be sure to be the right person for you. Because, you - you Sloan Sabbith, are a wonderful person, and you deserve the right one."

Sloan smiled at that, at least now he’s gained her good side. She leans  in for a quick kiss, and a pat on his hand. "Stop being sappy, and let's get back to breakfast."

He slides in next to her as she generously gives him one waffle.  The eyebrow he raised at her was met with a laugh.

He could get used to this.

—

_Let’s get married, she hears him ask._

_He sits on the floor, the book now closed. That question was certainly building up for quite some time._

_She laughs._

—

“Let’s get married.”

Maggie turns to Jim slowly. He’s looking at her, then at the floor. She can see his face turn into a shade of red.

“Jim, I’m not going to the other side of the world. I’m more or less in the same coast.”

Jim stumbles, but he manages to cross to her side of the bedroom. He picks up one of her slacks, and tries to fold it the way Maggie did.

He fails.

Maggie asks for the offending pair, and Jim gives it up. Maggie just continues on packing her things, with Jim standing there, waiting for an answer.

The thing about just standing there in silence, after asking what one would consider a life changing question - it's bound to annoy one of you.

"Where is this coming from?" she finally asks him, throwing one of her dresses to the bed. 

It throws him off, because he honestly thought Maggie had quickly forgotten about it. But there she was, slightly fuming at him.

Jim couldn't help but shrug. "From the heart?"

She closes her eyes, balls up her fists. But even before Jim could remedy the situation, she screams at him, "GET THE HELL OUT!" Maggie pushes him out of her room, slamming the door to his face.

It takes Maggie around five minutes to calm herself. It somehow helps her finish packing, quicker than what she was expecting. She picks up her phone, looking through e-mails, reminders for her trip to DC. 

It's not enough. Her frustration seeps through the wall of distraction.

Jim has been like this for weeks leading to this day. A bit moody, he tries to push off any discussion about her move to the DC bureau. She really wanted to talk to him, at least to get some common ground of where they are in this relationship.

But no, he suddenly pops  _that_ question, and now she's getting that sense of him not wanting to let go.

"Can men really be that dense?"

"No," the muffled response coming from the other side of the door.

Maggie rolls her eyes, "Go away Jim."

"Can't," he replies. "My bag is in the room."

True enough, it's propped up on the chair next to the desk. She gets the bag, prepared to throw it at him.

Only to see him kneeling on the floor, holding up what looks like, a silver ring.

It makes Maggie drop his bag.

"Let's be clear," Jim starts. "This isn't an engagement ring. It's the promise ring my grandpa gave my grandma during the war."

"Jim-"

"No, I need to tell this story, it could help calm the both of us down. Grandpa gave this ring to grandma because well, the war. He wanted to let her know she isn't alone, that there's a part of him with her always. And it's almost the same reason why I'm giving it to you. Removing the war factor, I want you to know that you're never alone, that I'm just out there cheering you on.

You've always wanted to grow, and I don't want to be the reason for stopping you. That stupid thing I said was just me being afraid of being that reason. And it came out horribly. 

So, Margaret Jordan, I hope you accept this ring, not necessarily as a promise to come back to me someday so we can get married. But as a small nudge if you need it."

Maggie could only bury her face in her hands. She brushes away her hair, and reaches for the silver ring, puts it on without ceremony.

"Thank you, Jim."

He answers with a smile.

"Now get up on your feet, you look a bit ridiculous."

"I'm trying," he starts. "But I think my legs are numb."

She grabs his arm as he reaches for his dropped bag, and they both try to make most of the last night the share the same bed.

—

_Let’s get married, he had asked._

_She looks at him. It was now or never. Or it was an ill timed question._

_He waits._

—

Let’s get married, he asks out of the blue.

At least to her. He however, has been prepared for quite some time.

The ring doesn’t come in a box, and it has never left his pocket.

He keeps telling himself, the day will come.

They  had love in between them, surely, that would be enough?

But then.

The corners of her eyes crinkle, and she laughs. He had always loved her laugh, one of the things that made that the bleak world seem a little bit brighter.

But why does it feel different this time?

She smiles at him, and leans in to kiss his forehead.

“You’re drunk,”

She stands up, letting her night gown sweep the floor as she heads for the bedroom.

“Go to sleep,” she tells him, as she takes her place in bed.

It's an answer he wasn't expecting.

It wasn't the answer he had hoped for.

He takes time to look around. And it slowly comes to him.

In their love, they were blinded. Blinded by the truths that will always exist between them.

Or had she always seen it?

Is this why she laughed?

They were simply of two different worlds. She knew it well, that he could never be in her world.

It was an answer he should have expected.

His eyes go to the sight of the untouched glass. 

Perhaps, it was time that he saw it too.

She waits, for him to take his place beside her, as he always had.

Her heart beats fast, out of happiness or of fear, she isn’t sure.

And she asks herself, isn’t this where they should be? They were happy together, surely they were meant to be at each other’s side?

He had, always, been beside her. The two of them drew strength form each other, and by God, He knows the two of them have been through so much.

So why didn't she answer him?

What was holding her back?

Her head mocks her heart - she knew what it was.

She had always lived a good life, and she was gracious enough to let him in it.

And he had just asked her to live a new one.

She clutches on her sheets, as if she's afraid that someone would drag her away screaming.

(She was afraid that that someone was him.)

Deep breaths, she will simply tell him that perhaps, it wasn't the right time. That they have to... 

Wait? 

 _He waited long enough._  

Be sure?

_You once told him he was the most sure thing in your life right now._

That they have to be...

She shakes her head. 

She doesn't have an answer for that.

What more for the one he just asked?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the author's feeble attempt to "NaNoWriMo, but not quite". I have tried in the past, but almost always... Fail. This year, I used the fanfic challenge to see where I am and what I could actually do for NaNoWriMo. I thank lilacmermaid25 for bringing up these monthly challenge, and I apologize as well for not doing it monthly and instead cramming it up in one whole month.


End file.
